My Knight in Shining Armor
by WanderingShadowlight
Summary: -AU- Yuri Shibuya has only one wish, which is for the bullies to leave him alone to his baseball in peace. He did NOT asked for a freaking knight to appear into his life like some cliche fairytale romance. 'Do I look like a damsel in distress to you'
1. Chapter 1

**In this story, Yuri won't be the Maou. I'm changing the setting to Early Modern Period, when there was a Holy Roman Empire under a Holy Roman Emperor where um, like the anime plotline, they are at the brink of war with their enemies (keyword: brink; hasn't happened, _yet._)****. This fic was inspired from a book called 'My Knight in Shining Armor' by Jude Devereux. I won't follow it exactly, of course, just the idea. That's all I'm gonna say so enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Kyou Kara Maou.

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**Prologue**

**15th century, somewhere in Western Europe  
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**Conrart's P.O.V**

It has been two weeks since she died. It was so unexpected, so sudden. We never thought that she, one of the kindest, wisest lady in our country, would die trying to save it. Adalbert took it the hardest. He fought against the court for their unreasonable orders to send our soldiers to ambush the enemy so close to the village borders where she had been. After that, he left the country, forsaking his title and origins off his shoulders, swearing to never involve himself with the ones who had caused her untimely death.

I stare out the window through my quarters, watching the rain drizzle down onto the dark, wet streets until I forced myself to turn back to the unfinished letter. The war we had tried so hard to avoid is now set into full motion. Unfortunately, Yosak and I are now stuck in a small village with no supplies, money or reinforcements to speak of. That is why I am writing to my mother to let her know of our ailments and hopefully she would send someone to escort us back in time before the enemies reach our borders.

Halfway through the letter, my eyes drifted to the beautiful blue, teardrop pendant lying innocently beside my hand. Before I knew it, I had put it on and held it against the dim candlelight, watching in fascination as the blue swirled and sparkled like undercurrent waters. This was her last gift to me, just right before my troops were sent to scout the borders. She said it would bring me luck, and she was right. I would have died if it wasn't for this pendant, but now I wished that she had kept it, if only to keep hers.

She had always told me how one day there would be peace and I believed her. It was the sole reason I went on the scouting espionage despite knowing the risk. I drive myself to the limit, did everything I could, just to make it come true. But now that she's gone, that dream went with her too…

Shaking my head, I was about to go back to my letter when I heard…crying? I looked around my room, confused. There was nothing. The faint crying was still there though, is it from outside? I opened the window to face an empty street, and the crying still continues.

A dreadful thought hit me. Could it be…feeling my hairs stand on end, I quickly mumbled out a small prayer until I could not hear the crying any longer. Relieved, I was about to sit down again when the crying came back, only this time getting louder and louder, ringing painfully through my ears and into my mind. I clutched my head in my hands. Why won't it stop? Who was crying so…so sadly? What does it want with me? I close my eyes tightly, praying fervently in my heart for the pain and loneliness not my own to leave me.

When I opened my eyes again, the room was gone, only darkness. The crying has thankfully tone down to a bearable level. Surveying my surroundings warily, I noticed a figure ahead of me. I could surprisingly see him clearly in this darkness. A boy, I think around sixteen or seventeen – was sitting on the ground with his knees pulled up to his chest so I couldn't see his eyes. Everything about him was black; his hair was black, his clothes were black, his tanned skin the only thing keeping him from blending almost perfectly into this nothingness we are in. Was he the one who was crying?

Well, whoever he was, I want him to stop. I don't have time for this. We have a war in our hands. I needed to write that letter.

"Hey, you there!" I shouted to the boy. The boy didn't seem to hear me, nor did he look up. The crying has yet to cease either. I scowled angrily. I really don't have time for this. Lives are at stake here! And yet…a part of me reached out towards the crying boy, wanting to comfort, to protect. I have not felt this way about anyone since…

Disturbed with myself, I yelled again. "Stop crying! I wish I can help with whatever ails you but I can't! I'm…I'm needed here! So please, stop crying!"

It did no good. The boy continued with his endless tears, dripping down like sparkling pearls in the dark. I stepped forward without meaning to, feeling my heart clenched with each step as I got closer and the crying got louder. With each step I said, "Please, what do you want me to do? Why are you here? What do you want with me? Why me?"

As I was just two steps away from him – the crying now rising to a wail –the ground beneath me suddenly lurched followed by a wave of dizziness. The world around me spins out of control and I was helpless to stop it. My quarters flashed past, then darkness only to appear again like a shutter. I tried to reach out towards the boy but his figure diminishes until I could see him no more. I wanted to shout, for Yosak or the boy, I don't care – as long as it stops this madness but nothing came out from my mouth.

The ground beneath me lurched again and I was thrown forward, unable to regain my balance. Down, down I went until all I remembered was the feeling of falling.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Let me be the first to tell you that I suck in History, so don't expect an accurate account of it here. It's enough to make my head spin. And you know what, I'm going to maintain the magic and their customs, just not the terms demons and humans. I'll make it seem like their belief or some sort.

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**Chapter 1**

Yuri jerks awake as the bus pulls to a stop in front of their destination. Letting out a yawn, he rubs his eyes sleepily as he looks up at the building in front of him. It was magnificent, to say the least; columns of plaster, carved into the Grecian style, held the roof, the building itself painted a creamy beige with large tall windows decorating the lower and upper floors. Posters of artifacts from different nations scattered across the front entrance, showing visitors what little piece of history they may get to see inside.

He watches the double cherry wood doors amidst the chattering and bustling of his fellow classmates when he was suddenly pushed from behind. Stumbling forward, he manages to regain his balance, barely avoided colliding into his classmate up front. He heard snickers behind his back and sighs. He doesn't need to turn around to know that it's those three bullies again.

It all started on the day he started his first freshman year in high school. He was on his way to school when he spotted those thugs harassing a student, seeming to come from a different school – a prestigious one at that, judging from his uniform. And like the nice person he is, he stopped and intervened before it got out of hand. All he got for his troubles was jeering of his name, a dunk in the ladies toilet bowl and a lifetime ticket of being their target.

Well, at least he gained a friend. A somewhat evil, perverted-minded friend...

His thoughts were interrupted when two resounding claps was heard over the noise. "Okay everyone, please gather around! We're about to head into the museum in a few minutes. Listen to your guide, take down some notes –" Groans erupted from the group which he ignores. "I'll be asking about them next week – and then you are free to wander around on your own."

Shinou peers out through his rimless glasses sternly, giving out a suppressive aura that scared his students shitless. "I'll be handing you lot over to Miss Shizugawa now_. I do _not_ want to hear a peep of anyone causing trouble in this establishment, or else. Do I make myself clear?" _

"H-Hai, Shinou-sensei."

Satisfied, he nods towards the female guide, a charming smile now stretch across his handsome face, blue eyes twinkling mischievously down at her. "They're all yours, Miss Shizugawa."

Blushing beet red at the attention, the guide clears her throat and starts. "Konnichiwa and welcome to..."

"...and here you will see a salvaged painting of one of the noble lords of Germany from the Middle Ages, during the reign of Frederick I, who is also known as Barbarossa."

Yuri was trying to follow what the guide is saying when something jabs him none-too-gently in the ribs and an arm slung itself across his shoulder when he doubled-over in pain. "Well, well, well, if it ain't little 'urine'." came a familiar but unwelcome nasally voice from over his head, followed by a round of low guffaws.

Yuri suppresses another sigh. Couldn't they leave him alone for even one day? He removes the arm and turns around. "What do you want?" he said, carefully neutral. After dealing with them on a daily occurrence, he had long since ceased to be scared. Well, maybe just a little. But he had found ways to avoid them and escape from getting dunked, tied up, whichever catches their fancy.

"Oh, looks like little 'urine' got some spunk." The bully fists his hand into his collar, choking him as he lifts Yuri a few feet off the ground. "We can't have that now, right boys?" he added, exchanging grins with his lackeys. Yuri's blood turns cold at the implications.

"What is going on here?" Yuri nearly cried out his relief as his saviour, in the form of Shinou-sensei stood behind them. "What do you think you're doing with Shibuya, Yamamoto?"

Yamamoto, the one holding him up, puts him down quickly and turns to face his impending aura of doom that is Shinou-sensei. "Uh...Sensei...I was...we were just..."

"Enough." Shinou cuts off, glaring down at the bullies with hard blue eyes. "I'll let all of you off with a warning for now but make no mistake that should I see you making a nuisance of yourselves again, and I'll have you all barred from my subject and will be gracing your parents with a one-on-one session. Now, move it!"

After watching the bullies scamper away, Shinou turns to Yuri who was finding the floor tiles _very_ interesting. "Shibuya, you alright there?"

"Ah, hai Sensei! Thank you very much for asking!" Yuri said quickly, giving a small bow. Shinou waves it off, brushing back his golden locks with a smirk. Uh, oh, whenever Shinou-sensei smirks, that means something is going to happen to that person it's being directed to, and there is no way of telling if it's good or bad. He hopes it is the former. Yuri stiffens up, awaiting his judgement.

"Well then, what are you standing here for? All your classmates have already moved on to the next exhibit." His smirk grew wider as he said this. Yuri flushes in embarrassment, bowed once more and then hurries away to catch up.

"Oh, and Shibuya?"

Yuri halts in his tracks, glancing over his shoulder curiously. Shinou gives him a wink, a languid grin now replacing his smirk though it didn't ease Yuri's paranoia one bit. In fact, his next words just triggered his internal warning bells. "Fate has a strange way of dealing things, especially when it comes to bonds." he said mysteriously. "It doesn't matter how or why it came to be, just that when it is strong, nothing is impossible – even known to transcend time and space. Remember that will you, _Yuri_?"

Yuri stood there gaping at his Sensei's retreating back. Shaking himself from his bewilderment, he returns to his group, all the while thinking about freaky philosophical teachers.

"Be back here in the foyer by 5p.m! Don't think I will hesitate in leaving your sorry ass behind, understood?"

"Hai~"

The students scattered, mumbling and laughing excitedly at something or another. Yuri nodded his head in polite acknowledgement as some greeted him, heading towards an alcove he saw earlier. There he would be able to strategise some new training drills for his baseball team in peace. That went down the drain, however, when a hand suddenly shot out and grips his arm tightly, steering him towards another, more secluded destination.

"Eh, wha –?" was what he managed to get out before he was shoved into a room. He trips over his own feet and fell down on his bottom with a grunt. Not wanting to be put in a disadvantage, he quickly stood up and faces his assailant.

"Wolfram!?" he blurts out, shocked. "What – what are you doing here??"

Said blond flicks his hair out of his face haughtily, pinning him with a fiery glare. If he hasn't confirmed that Shinou-sensei had no siblings to speak of, Yuri would have said that they were related; apart from their difference in age and eye colour that is.

"Do I need a reason to be here with my boyfriend?" Wolfram drawled casually, a deceptive contrast to his flashing jade emeralds. "Which brings up another matter as to _why you didn't tell me in the first place?_"

Yuri closes his eyes and concentrated on counting to ten, maybe twenty. "Wolfram, I didn't tell you because it was a school excursion _so _it wasn't necessary. And one more thing, I'm not –"

"_To hell it wasn't necessary! _I'm your boyfriend so I have the _right _to know!"

"That's just it, you're not –"

"_Unless..._this school activity is a farce and you just came here to flirt! That's it, isn't it? You came here to cheat on me, you dirty cheater! This is low, even for a wimp like you. I don't know why I put up with you. You're just a lousy, wimpy, ungrateful baseball geek who's unworthy of someone like me."

_SLAP! _Wolfram's head snapped to the side at the force of impact. Stunned, he cradles his bruised red cheek, pure disbelief written all over his face.

"Let me clear something up for you, _Bielefeld_," Yuri said his voice dangerously low. "First of all, it was _you _who chased after me since we were freshmen, even though I made it _perfectly clear _that I wasn't interested. It was _you _who decided right then and there that I am your boyfriend, no discussion or questions asked. Every time I talk with my classmates, you accused me of being a flirt or a cheater even when it's just asking for a pen! The best part is that you stalked me everywhere; to my house, to my baseball training field and even to the public bathhouses! _You even got my freaking_ _phone number and e-mail after I changed it!_ So correct me if I'm wrong when I say that it doesn't matter whether you break it off or not, for you are the only one here who believes there is a relationship between us from the beginning."

Yuri breathed heavily, his body light from the outburst. Silence settled in the air like thick molasses, wrapping around them like how sweat sticks to skin. Once he got his breathing under control, he could feel the first tendrils of guilt entering his heart. Why does all the drama happen to him?

"Look, I –"

"I understand."

"Huh, you do?" Yuri watched as Wolfram lowers his head, his bangs shadowing his eyes from view whereas his lips are set in a tight line.

"Yeah, I'll leave you alone now." was all the blond said before he made for the door. Yuri let out his third sigh for the day. He checks his watch and noticed that it was almost close to closing time. Did they really take that long? He reached down for his bag only to grab empty air. Puzzled, he looks around until a dreadful realisation hits him, just as the door closes with an ominous click.

He threw himself onto the door, jiggling the knob only to confirm that, yes, it's locked. He then bangs the door with his fists. "Wolfram, what the heck are you doing? Open this door and give me back my bag!"

"Hmm...How about no? This will teach you not to get smart with me. You deserve it." Yuri does not need to see to know how smug the other is right now. "A night in the museum is sure to cool your head off. See you tomorrow, Yuri."

He panic and bangs on the door, shouting in vain, for the other's footsteps has already faded into the distance. Not wanting to face the fact that he will indeed be spending the night here penniless with only the clothes on his back, Yuri continued banging on the door until his hands ache; hoping fervently that someone will hear it and get him out.

Soon, he heard another set of footsteps heading his way. Encouraged, he banged on the door, yelling "Is anyone out there? Help, I'm locked in! Please get me out!"

"Now, if that doesn't sound like that baseball shrimp. How did ya get yourself in there, eh 'urine'? Looking for some fun only for the chick to dump you 'cause you can't get it up?" Raucous laughter seeps through the wood and into his ears.

Yuri mentally groaned. Lady Luck, he decided, is a sadistic bitch. "Look, could you just find one of the staff and get me out of here? I don't want to miss the bus home."

"You hear that? Now he's asking for our help to get back home to his mama!" Another round of muffled laughter was heard. "Well too bad for you, 'urine', we don't feel like 'helping'. I still haven't forgotten the stunt you pulled earlier."

"I didn't pull _anything_! Now let me out of here! Hey!" Yuri banged on the door in frustration. "Do you hear me? Hey!"

"Bye bye, 'urine'. Enjoy your stay." More laughter and jokes were exchange until Yuri could hear them no more. He slumps down onto the floor, his hands stinging a reminder of all his futile efforts. Then, his watch began beeping. It was 5p.m. As if on cue, rain started pouring from the cloudy heavens above, hard droplets hitting against the singular square window in the room.

"Great, what else could go wrong?" Suddenly, a crash of thunder shook the room, making Yuri jump two feet into the air. The lights flickered on and off and next thing he knew, the room was shrouded in darkness.

"...You've got to be kidding me."

Yuri must have fallen asleep for he found himself waking up with a stiff neck. Looking around him, with a little help from the occasional flashes of thunder, he concluded that he's in the museum's storage room, and was currently leaning against a giant stone slab.

"What a day," Yuri whispered out into the dark. Now that his bag was gone, Yuri has no means of contacting anyone. Even if he did, nobody would be able to get him now. His parents are away for the night, something about reliving their first date, while Shori is on a business trip in Switzerland with his mentor, Bob. He does not doubt though, that Shori would try anyway, being the overprotective brother that he is.

With nothing to occupy his mind, he could not help but think back, not only to what happened today, but also events that have recurred in his life. The bullies constant picking on him, Wolfram's obsession, the stress of starting his own little league baseball...he remembers Shori's immediate disagreement of his plans in getting a place of his own, saying that then he wouldn't be able to protect him. When he complained, Shori brought up his tendency to land himself into trouble, starting with 'Do you remember that you...' to end with 'You're just too kind, and people will take advantage of people like you. Now just let big brother take care of you, alright?'

"Damn it, I can take care of myself!" With a cry, he whirls around and punches the stone slab, tears coming unbidden to his eyes. He didn't doubt Shori's good intentions, but he didn't want to depend on his brother all the time. He wanted to be able to stand on his own two feet. But with all the things that have been happening lately, it just seems to strengthen his brother's priority more and more. He was suddenly thankful that he doesn't have his phone. His latest predicament would just add to Shori's list of 'Why Yuri should let me protect him'.

Sniffling, Yuri looks at the innocent slab he just punched. He took a moment to marvel at it; made out of an impressive mix of marble and onyx, it was littered with runes carved and painted in, strangely enough, silver, except for the life-size figure carved into the centre in gold. At closer inspection, Yuri thought that the figure looks decidedly handsome; messy shoulder-length hair framing his sharp angular face which is connected to broad shoulders and chest, wearing a uniform with a sword strapped to his side, and all this gives off an impression of precise elegance.

Like a knight in shining armour, Yuri thought. What he wouldn't give to have one right now. "Ha, listen to me, I sound like a girl." he laughs mirthlessly. He tried to stop the flow of his tears but they just kept on coming. Giving up, he pulls his knees to his chest and let it all go, releasing his troubles, frustration and worries like a broken dam.

It wasn't obvious at first, for it was absurd in the first place so he ignored it – accounting it to his imagination, but he felt a presence in the room. It wasn't sudden either, it's just...there. Not daring to look up, Yuri breathes through his nose, trying to regulate his breathing so as to not attract unwanted attention. Thoughts and stories of spirits and ghouls played through his mind, making him feel on edge with each passing second. Thanks Mom, for feeding me ghost stories, Yuri thought with fake cheer.

He stiffens as footsteps echoed across the lacquered floor, bringing the person closer to where he is crouching. Not able to stand the suspense, he lifts his head, and the first thing that came to mind is that he must have fallen asleep again. What else could explain the man, who oddly looked like the one he saw a few minutes ago – yup, same tousled hair, though now he could give a colour which is brown, same structure of face with brown eyes speckled with silver set sternly into it, and is that a 1914 German Infantry uniform? He couldn't tell in the dark – could have come into the room that is locked from the outside.

He definitely looks way hotter in real life than on a marble slab – ack! Yuri mentally slaps away that traitorous train of thought with a hot blush and quickly buries his face onto his knees. Maybe when he opens his eyes again the man will go away? Somehow that thought didn't bring much comfort as it should.

His musings were cut off, however, when he felt cold steel, too disturbingly real to be fake if the sharpness is anything to go by, being pressed against his neck. Yuri held his breath. Then the man opens his mouth, and a string of smooth tenor with a bite of chill reaches his ears. What he said next though, had Yuri's mind boggled.

"State your purpose, sorcerer, for bringing me into your domain. But be warn," The man's voice now rises to a rumbling growl. "Should the reason be nothing but a fool's errand, I will be justified to run this sword through your heart."

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Okay, that's a wrap. I hope you enjoy that. Review yeah?


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Don't say it, I know this update has been long due but it was unavoidable. To those who were confused, Conrad is now in Yuri's timeline, which is modern Japan. Anything else that doesn't make sense will probably be unravelled as the plot goes along, or you can just ask me anyway. Bear in mind though that Conrad has never met Yuri before so he'll, ah, be a little unfriendly. Oh, special thanks to **_**pyrrhicvictoly**_** for her help on European history and ideas, you were a huge help! Without further ado, here's the chapter you've all been waiting for. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Kyou Kara Maou, and the original plot belongs to Jude Deveraux.

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**Chapter 3**

_Recap:_

_"State your purpose, sorcerer, for bringing me into your domain. But be warn," The man's voice now rises to a rumbling growl. "Should the reason be nothing but a fool's errand, I will be justified to run this sword through your heart."_

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Yuri couldn't help staring up at him in open-mouthed astonishment. In fact, he was inclined to believe that he has finally cracked under all the stress. Not only was the man - an extraordinarily good-looking one, a little part of him whispered, which sounded suspiciously like his Mom - talking uncommonly strange, he even called him a sorcerer! No, he must not have heard right. The thunder must be playing tricks on his ears. Yeah, that's it; Yuri thought firmly, thunder and exhaustion. The slight pressure of steel to his neck_, _though, quickly reminded him of the situation he had yet to deal with. He looked back at the man; standing so still and glaring down at Yuri so fiercely, that Yuri truly thought that he had indeed fallen asleep again, it was all so surreal.

"Well warlock," the man said, "you have conjured me_, _so what now do you ask of me?"

"W-Warlock? M-M-Me?" Yuri stuttered out, consciously wiping away the tear tracks on his face. From somewhere on his body, the man pulled out a white linen handkerchief and handed it to him, his hold on the sword not faltering from its position one bit. Yuri stared at the proffered item for a moment before hesitatingly taking it with a small "Thanks." He then looked out the window and was startled to find out that it has stopped raining. Rainclouds gradually parted to reveal a bright, full moon, and with its light streaming onto the window and into the room, he was able to see the man's attire clearly. He was wearing, not a uniform as he had expected, but what appeared to be armor that he only see in books; worn over the man's woollen underclothes, a bronze breastplate was strapped to the front along with the rest consisting of shoulder guards, gauntlets, waist guard and greaves (shin guards) of the same metal (1). He could also see details that he wasn't able to see before, such as how the man has a stubble on his chin, a small scar over his right brow, as well as a makings of a moustache over his lips.

Yuri would later deny that his eyes had lingered on said lips.

"Are you plotting with my country's enemies?" the man asked. "How many lives are they going to take? Will they be satisfied only when our lands are burning? Stand, lad, and explain yourself."

Great, handsome but clearly off his rocker, Yuri mentally griped. Slowly, he stood up, carefully manoeuvring around the sword's sharp point, and said, "Look, I don't know what you're talking about and – wait a minute..." Realisation hit him like a ton of bricks and he pointed an accusing finger at the startled man. "All this is a set up, isn't it? Seeing as I haven't learned my 'lesson' enough, he decided to take it one step further by paying a staff of this museum to scare me with this – this props and get-up while he hides and has a good laugh somewhere! Well, you nearly fooled me with your authentic-looking stage costume but I'm on to you now! So you can tell that overbearing, stuck-up brat to take a hike and unlock that door this instant! While you're at it, tell him to give me back my bag! I have better things to do than stick around in this stinking room any longer!"

Heaving from his second outburst of the day, Yuri made to stomp past the man and towards the door when he was pulled back by a strong, rough grip on his arm. Turning around to give him another lashing, Yuri nearly quailed under the cold, enraged look on the man's grim face.

"This is no time for your nonsensical trivialities. My country, my family, my soul – they are at stake even as we speak, as is yours. Undo what you have cast, warlock! I must return!"

"Are you still going on about that?" Yuri recovered his wits and shook himself out of his hold, all the while holding the man's gaze. "He must have paid you some good money to warrant such...ah, enthusiasm. Anyways, you can drop the act now and open this door. It's getting late and I have lots of stuff to do."

The man shot a dubious glance at the door and said, "So if I free you from your imprisonment, you will return me to my home?"

"Eh? Um, well, I guess so, if you just tell me your address –" A sudden whoosh of air went past him and before he could blink, the door was on the floor in three, slashed pieces. "Holy shit, that sword was real! I thought it was just a prop! Is it even legal for you to carry around a sword like that?"

"Legal? Prop? You have a strange manner of speech that rivals your state of dress," the man remarked. He then looked at his arm. "Is that a clock on your arm? What sort of warlock are you?"

"Of course it's a clock, and you're one to talk about clothes and speech. Are you a foreigner or something? And for the last time, I'm not a warlock!"

The man sheathed his sword, frowning down at him though Yuri was somewhat relieved to see there was less anger in those eyes. "I have kept my word, _warlock_. I have freed you, and now you must return me to my home."

Yuri almost tore his hair out in despair. Usually when it comes to difficult people, he was able to handle them somewhat patiently. He has to be if he's going to lead his baseball team. But something about the man before him set something off inside of him that he doesn't know which one he's more frustrated with. Today's events just add more fuel to the fire. Forgetting that the other was armed, his finger jabbed the man in the chest, punctuating each word that left his mouth. "I. Am. Not. A. Warlock. I have no clue what the heck you're raving about, conjuring or plotting or whatever else you said. As for you going home, just give me your address and I'll try to point you in the right direction but that's _it_. Don't expect me to pay for your rides home either. Here's your handkerchief, thanks for lending it to me. Now, if you still want to continue this drama, then go find someone else who cares. I want no part of it. Goodbye and I hope whatever play you're acting in gets great reviews." With that said Yuri turned sharply on his heels and strode towards where he knew the emergency exit was.

"First bullies and Wolfram, now a crazy Shakespearean actor," Yuri murmured as he left the museum. If he recalled, there was a phone booth just across a street, within sight of the back door. Yuri rummaged through his pockets, desperately hoping that he didn't put all his loose change in his bag. "Come on, come on….Got it! Thank god!" Yuri clutched the coins to his chest for a moment of relief before using it to make a call to the one person he could depend on. The streets were quiet, with not a single sound or person in sight except for a few passing cars, the quiet hum of their engine seemingly louder in the silence of the night. One look at his watch told him that it was one-thirty in the morning, and a sleepy Ken Murata answered the phone.

"Gyuh…whoever the hell is on the other line better have a damn good reason for calling at this god forsaken –"

"Hey, Murata,"

There was a pause on the other line. "Shibuya, is that you?" Murata asked, waking up. "Is something the matter? Did you get into trouble?"

Yuri rolled his eyes. "You sound exactly like Shori. What makes you think that I'm in trouble?"

"Other than the fact that you have the worst luck possible and you calling me at this hour, it's just a hunch of mine."

"…Fine," Yuri admitted. "I ran into some…problems earlier and now I need a ride back home."

"…You're still at the museum that your class went to?"

Yuri sighed and said, "Wolfram."

"Ah, that explains it. Alright, I'll be right there." Yuri heard the dial tone and he hung the receiver back into its cradle. That's what he liked about his friend; he would not push for answers unless it was ready to be given. Although, Yuri always had an inkling that Murata seemed to know what was happening before it could even came to knowledge, as if that's what he had predicted to happen, and just needed to confirm it. He wouldn't be surprise if his assumption proved to be correct. Murata got to have some smarts in the first place to have entered into one of the most prestigious private school in Saitama.

As he was leaning against the phone booth, he saw the man in armor came out the door, taking in his surroundings quickly until they landed on him. Yuri felt like he was paralysed under that penetrating gaze, unable to move as he watched the man crossed the road.

From the corner of his eye, he saw a silver Lamborghini cruising down the road, the soft purr emitting from it like a predator stalking the streets. Just like that, the trance was broken and Yuri suddenly stood up straight. The car was steadily coming closer, the man was walking very fast, and somehow, he instinctively knew he was going to walk in front of the car. Without another thought, Yuri started to run. He made his best flying leap that he'd learned from years of baseball and landed on top of him. Both skidded across the tar road on his armor as the Lamborghini flew past them. If Yuri had been a second too late, the man would have been hit by that car. Yuri shuddered at the thought.

"I-Idiot! What were you thinking, crossing the road without looking! You could have been killed!" he said as he pushed his upper body away from the man's armor. When he received no response, he began to feel worried. "Hey, are you okay? You didn't hit your head or anything, did you? Do you want me to take you to a doctor?"

"What manner of carriage was that?" the man asked, sitting up but not attempting to stand. He looked dazed from the ordeal. "I did not hear it coming. And there were no horses."

Okay…he definitely hit his head, Yuri thought. He made to stand up but was stopped when the man grabbed his wrist. "Wait, what year is this?"

"Huh, you don't remember? It's the year 2001. Hey, are you sure you're okay? You look a little…pale." 'Pale' was a definite understatement, as the man's face had been drained from all colour to match with the utterly befuddled look on his face. Yuri offered his hand to the man on the ground but he refused it, standing up on his own. He probably should have, because as soon as he was on his feet he swayed a little and had to lean against the nearest object to support himself, which just so happens to be Yuri.

"O-Oi, get a hold of yourself – ack!" Not able to carry the sudden weight above him, both Yuri and the man lost their balance, tumbling down in a tangled heap of limbs. All breath he had was squashed out of his lungs, his back screaming in protest as it hit the pavement harshly. Ow, that is surely going to bruise, Yuri grimaced. He tried to get out from underneath the man but the heavy weight of armor kept him pinned to the ground. He then began to struggle. "Hey, get up, you're not exactly lightweight, you know! Hey!" No reply reached his ears, so he peered at the man closely only to blinked at the sight in disbelief. "He fainted! Argh, at least get off of me before you do!"

* * *

"You know...when Ken told me to picked you up from the museum, seeing you lying on the sidewalk with a man on top of you wasn't what I expected." said a dark-skinned man with dark dreadlocks, adjusting his rimless glasses as he look through the rear-view mirror at his back-seat passengers.

"I'm sorry for all the trouble, Dr. Rodriguez!" Yuri said.

"Hey, chill Shibuya. It isn't a problem. But I'm curious," Murata leaned forward from the front seat and whispered in a conspiratorial tone. "Is this hot piece of flesh the reason why you refuse Wolfram's advances?"

"Murata!" Yuri blushed hotly, whacking the other in head. "You know I don't swing _that _way!"

"Ah, but that doesn't mean you couldn't make an exception. I know I would." Murata winked with a teasing grin on his lips.

"Are you sure you're sixteen? Because I swear, you're acting like a creepy old man." Yuri deadpanned.

"Hey, that's not a nice thing to say to your very best friend and manager of the baseball team!"

"Okay boys, we're here." Dr. Rodriguez pulled up in front of Yuri's house. "Do you want me to carry this man up as well, Yuri? I could take him in if you want to."

Yuri looked back at the unconscious man. Something about this man pulled him to him, and as he watched the man's perfect, peaceful features, he knew that he could no more leave him than abandon an injured puppy in the streets. Maybe Shori was right, I'm too kind for my own good, he thought.

"No, please bring him in. And could you stay for a while and give him a check-up? He might have an injury that may have caused him to lose his memories." He had explained everything that had happened in the museum to them on their ride home and it was the only logical conclusion he could come up with about the man's strange behaviour.

"Eh, I'm only a paediatrician, but I'll see what I can do," the doctor replied, trying to support the man's weight. "Man, this armor makes him weighs a ton! A little helping hand here?"

After much huffing and panting, Yuri, Murata and Dr. Rodriguez finally managed to heaved the man into the house and then onto the couch. Catching his breath for a moment, Dr. Rodriguez began to remove the armor, making exclamations now and again as to how it must have cost the man a fortune to have it made from real bronze, including the gem inlaid at the hilt of his sword. It was just as he had put away the last of his attire did the man stir into awareness.

"Ah, you're awake. Good, good, now if you could just sit up a little so I could check for a concussion – whoa!" Dr. Rodriguez barely dodged a swipe to his head; the man leaping nimbly around him and took up his sword. "Calm down, I'm not –" He stopped and gulped audibly when the sword was pointed to his throat. "Easy there..."

"How dare you undress me without my consent?" the man snarled, his eyes flashing. "Do you seek to take advantage at my moment of vulnerability? Then this is where you have committed a faux pas, and you do well to refrain the next time once I'm done with you." And the man started to take a step forward.

To avoid any oncoming bloodshed, Yuri did the only thing that came to mind: he threw himself against the man and yelled, "Stop!" Unfortunately, while doing so, the edge of the sword slashed through the sleeve of his uniform and cut his skin. Startled by the sudden pain, Yuri nearly tripped and fell, but the man caught him, brought him to the couch and set him down. The man tensed when the adult with the strange hairstyle and a boy came close, only to relax again when Yuri told him that they were his friends. "You are injured," he said, having the grace to look sheepish and Yuri could tell by the way he stiffened when he look at the wound that he was mortified that he'd injured him.

"Don't worry – it's just a flesh wound, nothing to fuss about, Mr..." Yuri paused. "Say, you didn't say what your name was. Um, guess I'll start first. My name is Yuri Shibuya, and these two here are my friends, Ken Murata and Dr. Jose Rodriguez."

"...I am Lord Conrart Weller, son of Lady Cecilie von Spitzweg and her late husband Lord Dan Hiri Weller, and commander of Shin Makoku's army division." the man, now known as Conrart, replied.

Yuri couldn't help but gape at the implications, which was interrupted by a sting of pain as the doctor applied some iodine onto the wound. "Ow, ow, ow...wait, so that means you're some sort of royalty! But, I've never heard of a country called Shin Makoku before..."

"It is a small nation founded by our first ruler, the Great One, after he assisted in the defeat of the Magyars, known to many as the Battle of Lechfeld (2)." Conrart explained, frowning slightly.

"Battle of the Lechfeld...hmm, but that means you're from Germany, correct?" Murata said contemplatively.

"Yes,"

"Huh, you speak Japanese well for a foreigner, though for a moment there I thought you were English." Dr. Rodriguez patted the bandage tied to Yuri's arm. "There you go, it should heal up nicely in a day or two. Now, it's your turn big guy –" He unconsciously leaned backwards at the onslaught of intensity in those brown eyes. "Um, is there something wrong?"

"What language did you say I was speaking?"

"Erm, Japanese? What else did you think it was?"

"But there must be a mistake, for I am currently speaking my country's language, as you all are."

"...I'm sure we are, now how about that check-up?" Dr. Rodriguez said complacently. Conrart stood up from his seat, his eyes blazing. The size of him, the anger coming off of him, the way he held himself, not to mention the fact that he's still holding a razor sharp sword, was enough to make anyone in the near vicinity to inched away from the scene.

"Are you suggesting that I am to go to the madhouse, _doctor_?" Conrart said dangerously.

"Um, no, er, nobody said it, I mean –"

"What he means is that maybe there's a way to contact your family?" Yuri cut in before someone's head starts rolling. Dr. Rodriguez sent him a grateful look. "They must be worried about you right? I know mine would if I so much as be gone for more than six hours."

"My family," he said, his lips forming a little smile, the first one Yuri had ever seen the man make since they met, and he was affronted to find himself thinking how the man look even more gorgeous when he smiled. "I would imagine my family would be dead now."

Yuri softened as he heard that. Instead of a head injury, it was grief that made him have amnesia? "I'm sorry. Did they die recently?"

The man's smile turned bitter and he let out a dry laugh, "If what you have told me is true, then it has been more than five hundred years since then."

Yuri exchanged looks with the others. "Here, how about you let the doctor check you for injuries? I'm sure after today you might want to hit the bed. We can decide what to do tomorrow after a good night's rest."

Conrart turned to look at him. "You do not believe me." he said softly. It was a statement, not a question.

Yuri in turned, pushed him down onto the couch. "We'll talk – _tomorrow_." he promised.

He was then shown to the guest room, which took much longer than usual as the man kept asking questions about ordinary objects such as a toothbrush and pyjamas – Yuri even had to explain what elastic and boxers are – it was more than he could bear. It was only the wonder on Conrart's face at each discovery that Yuri prevailed.

"Tough day you had, huh?" Murata yawned as his friend slumped down beside him on the bed. He decided to stay the night should Yuri need any help with their 'guest'.

Yuri groaned into his pillow. "Ugh, don't remind me. Why do all these things happen when I don't want them to? And don't tell me its fate or I'll pinch you."

Murata shrugged. After a moment of comfortable silence between them, Murata asked, "Hey, Shibuya?"

"Hmm?"

"How are you going to explain this to your parents?"

Yuri froze. Before he could reply, the sound of the front door opening wafted its way into his room, followed by hushed voices and then a slam. A second later, a feminine voice called out, "Yu-chan, why are the lights on down here? And shoes...Is Ken-chan with you?"

Oh, crap, Yuri thought helplessly.

* * *

**(1) Just think about the armor he wore during the human-demon war.**

**(2) This part of history...is entirely fiction, except for the battle and the Magyars.**

**Oh, I hope I got that part right. Review and let me know, yeah?**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

_Recap:_

_Yuri froze. Before he could reply, the sound of the front door opening wafted its way into his room, followed by hushed voices and then a slam. A second later, a feminine voice called out, "Yu-chan, why are the lights on down here? And shoes...Is Ken-chan with you?"_

_Oh, crap, Yuri thought helplessly._

_

* * *

_

Conrart lay on his side, staring unseeingly into the pale blue wall of the room he was provided with. His thoughts were circling his mind endlessly, each one fighting to be at the forefront of his mind for attention.

He still could not believe what had happened to him. Before this, he had, as his fellow soldier friend would say, dug himself into the lowest point of his life. After barely escaping alive with Yosak from the ambush that had taken out all his men of his division, he was given news of _her _death. It was a hard blow, a painful stab that had nothing to do with the wounds being treated on his body. It was enough to shatter his purpose and nearly abandoned all hope. Then, he had been writing to his mother of his troubles, and requesting for an escort back when he heard someone crying.

He remembered how the crying echoed off the stone walls and ceiling of the inn, and also his mind – not of sadness, of fear, or of grief but that of painful emotion from deep within. _It is from a person who has lost hold of hope in life. _He shook his head, continuing his train of thoughts. Not wanting to be involved when his own need is greater, he attempted to ignore the cries and concentrate on his work. Conrart had even put his hand over his ears to shut out the sound but he could still hear it. The weeping had grown louder and louder, until his thoughts were overwhelmed and reluctantly surrendered himself to the pull he had been trying to resist ever since it started. Everything after that was a blur. He recalled standing in a void, drifting, neither cold nor hot, hearing nothing but the ever present sound of tears. He knew he saw and said something but the memory slipped through his fingers like fine grains of sand. All he could do was drift, like a shadow searching for a light.

And he must have found it. For when Conrart at last came to, he was standing in a small, dark room, occasionally lighted up by the thunderstorm brewing outside. Before him was a boy, no older than his own little brother, crying into his knees and so intent on his own misery that he didn't notice him until he'd moved. When the boy looked up, he was struck by how he truly looked to be the warlock he knew he was: he was attractively exotic compared to any men he'd met, his short hair framing his boyish, round face, his eyes as dark as a cloudless, starlit night, and his skin as golden as if touched by the sun itself. However, it did not take him long to discover that the boy's moods are...as fickle as the weather; one second he was crying his heart out, and the next second spitting fire to fuel his claims of innocence and accusations.

Conrart pressed a hand hard against his head. Why was it that he could recall the boy's appearance down to the littlest detail? If his friend was here, he would surely never hear the end of it. But that was it, wasn't it? Conrart thought. All that he knew, had ever known, none of them weren't here. His family, his friends, his country, his _home_ – they had long ceased to exist. Everything around him was different. The building he was in after the warlock left was filled with paintings and tapestries of people and stories of wars he has never heard of, all with plaques set into the walls with dates that read: 1743, 1821, 1905 and many others that he could not fathom. He was even more horrified when he finally noticed the slab of marble the boy was leaning against, and saw a sculpture of...himself. An epitaph of his death.

Shaken, he went out through the door in search of the warlock, to once again try to make him see that he needed to return home when a loud sound came from his right, and to the left, came the warlock, running faster than he'd seen anybody run. He was unprepared for the impact, or he must be weaker than he thought, for the frail weight of the boy knocked him to the ground. Seconds after that, a horseless carriage roared past them at an obscene speed that made him dizzy. Dizzy enough to make him faint like a woman, much to his utmost mortification.

As if that wasn't enough, he was stripped of his armour in front of the warlock and another young boy – a scholar he presume, from the glasses he was wearing – while unconscious by a doctor of suspicious credibility and equally absurd hair. He drew blood, made a fool of himself somehow and gave his rank and title, but it was obvious that they believe that Conrart was without his sanity.

"Is this to be my fate?" Conrart wondered, "To die in a strange place...in a different time?" He shifted his body and took a good look around the room. It was terribly _plain_. The walls were bare except for a framed picture that when touched, had the same marvellous glass as the window with fabric side hangings of painted cloths, only clearer and much harder to notice. His clothes were just as bland, with no colours, jewels or needlework. Such ordinariness made him think that the warlock was of peasant stock. The table had no intricate carving depictions like the one he had in his study, the bed he was lying on was small with no cloth hangings to enclose them and over him was a fat, soft light blanket instead of the heavy coverlets he was used to and clean, fresh sheets that are smooth to the touch.

Tomorrow, he thought with weariness of the day weighing heavily against his eyes, tomorrow I will be home and this will all be a long, bad dream.

He had barely fallen asleep for a minute when his ears picked out a set of hushed voices outside his room. His stance fully alert, he slipped out of his bed and made to reach for his sword when he remembered that the warlock had took it and put it away for 'everybody's health and safety'. Growling at the boy's boldness and his own stupidity for letting his only weapon be taken away, he cautiously opened the door and treaded his way carefully across the threshold, descending down the stairs and into the room where the voices came from, his muscles tensed and coiled for action...

* * *

"What are you doing up so late, not to mention at this hour of the morning young man?" Shoma Shibuya asked, his arms crossed against his chest.

"Now dear," Miko Shibuya, a.k.a Jennifer (of Yokohama), said cheerfully, "Give a chance for Yu-chan to explain. Besides, since Ken-chan is here, I'm sure they were just having fun and forgotten the time as teenage boys are wont to do nowadays." She paused, and then sidled a glance her son's way. "You weren't watching porn, were you?"

"Mom/Dear!"

"What? Oh, so it's alright for your father to ask about it and give 'the talk' and not your _Mama_?" Here she gave a pointed look to Yuri, who chuckled sheepishly, and a glare towards her husband, who shut his mouth and quailed under the look. "Mou, it _is_ a mother's duty to know everything about her child's growth, you know. I even read those self-help books in the store so that if Yu-chan ever has something like a wet dream, he could also come to Mama for help. Well, at first I was thinking of having a daughter to do that but then Yu-chan came out so that idea went down the drain but that doesn't matter at all since Yu-chan is just as cute as a girl so everything turned out fine."

Yuri groaned. "Mom, please stop talking about that. It's embarrassing. _And I didn't watch porn, okay!_ I...I was just having a strange day, that's all."

Jennifer exchanged worried glances with Shoma. "Did you get into trouble, Yu-chan?"

"NO!" shouted Yuri, only to remember who he was talking to and cleared his throat, lowering his voice considerably. "Ah, sorry, I mean, no. And why is it that that's the first thing you expect of me?" he muttered at the end. Thankfully, nobody heard it.

"Then what do you mean by 'strange' day?" Shoma was about to ask just to cut himself short when a figure leapt out from behind the couch his son and his friend were sitting at and lunge for him "GAH!"

"DAD!" yelled Yuri, subconsciously aware that his mother had gone to the kitchen and has now returned with a broomstick with Murata standing close by at hand. He then finally took in the figure who was trying to hold his father into a stranglehold, "_Conrad!_ _What the _hell _do you think you're doing! Let him go!_"

The brown-haired brunette looked up dubiously, not once loosening his grip on the man below him. "My name is Conrart, not Conrad. And did this man not threaten your safety, warlock? I heard you screaming..."

Yuri bristled, the epitome of an indignant cat whose tail was stepped on. "First of all, it's Yuri, okay? Y-U-R-I, not warlock! Second, I wasn't _screaming _(I'm not a girl!). And third, the man you're sitting on is my dad. So, get off of him. Please." He remembered his manners at the last minute.

Conrart look back and forth between the man and the boy. Dad? Does the term refer to a male parental figure, a father? They do share a little resemblance, he noted, though more so from his mother. That must be it. He eventually backed off, giving the man some space as he kneeled on one knee and bowed his head, "My humblest apologies to you, Sir, for accosting you so roughly." Then he stood, and faced the boy's mother, "And to you as well, madam. It was not my intention to bring harm into your residence." he said smoothly, completing it with a kiss onto the back of her hand. Oh dear, Yuri thought. He could already see the hearts in his Mom's eyes.

"Oh, that's alright. All is forgiven, right dear?" Jennifer giggled.

"Wha – Of course not! I was almost choked to death by this – this _stranger_, in my own house!" Yuri grimaced when his Dad turned to him. "Well, Yuri? Care to explain as to who this man is and why is he in our house wearing Shori's clothes?"

"Er...um...well, you see...funny thing is..."

"Please allow me to explain, Mr. Shibuya." Murata said, stepping in for his friend who cast a grateful look in his direction. "Shibuya missed the bus earlier today so he called me to pick him up. Then on the way, we found this gentleman lying unconscious by the pavement and when he came to, he has no memory of himself except for his name, his origins and his surprising vast knowledge of German history."

"But my memories are still in –...!" Conrart started to say but Yuri discreetly stomped on his foot, looking pointedly ahead even when he could feel the other's heated glare boring holes into his face. "Yeah, that's how it is. I couldn't leave him, and he insisted that he did not want to go to the hospital, so I, ah, brought him here."

"Oh, how awful!" cried Jennifer. "To have amnesia...some wicked person must have hit you and took off with your luggage! You say you know a lot about German history, right?" She did not wait to hear his reply, too fired up to take in anything else. "That means you must have come from Germany! That's right!" She pointed her finger into his face; actually making Conrart backed a few steps. "_You must have come from a royal lineage, a prince, ready to take the throne and marry a princess who is also your beloved! Before your coronation, you decided to take a trip here to celebrate your last freedom as a bachelor but what you didn't know is that someone, maybe a sibling or relative, wanted the seize the throne for himself so he sent a secret assassin to kill you and leave your body stranded in this unknown land of the East!_"

Conrart seemed to be struck speechless by the woman's enthusiasm to even respond, fortunately for Yuri. He just helped lead the stunned man to the couch and sat him down whereas his Dad went to deal with his Mom. "Um, honey, that's a wonderful piece of deduction but I think you've –"

"It is, isn't it?" Jennifer said triumphantly. She put her hands on her hip, determination clear across her face. "It's decided then. We are going to help him."

"We are?" questioned Shoma. He lifted his hands defensively when his sweet wife whipped her head around with an all too familiar demonic glare. "I mean, what am I thinking, of course we are! In the meantime, he can stay in our house and sleep in the guest room. Heck, maybe he could help you around the house if he wants to."

"Oh, dear, you always come up with such wonderful ideas!" Jennifer gushed, her eyes twinkling with excitement.

"I do, don't I?"

Yuri had to fight the urge to roll his eyes at the lovey-dovey scene now being displayed in front of him. "Ugh, no matter how many times they do this, I still get goose bumps over it."

Murata smiled, "Yeah, just another day in the Shibuya household. Although I must say, your family sure took the situation rather well, especially Mama."

"What do you expect? You know how much she loves those romance stories, especially if it has fantasy in it."

"So if we told her that the guy believed himself to be a knight that has travelled more than five hundred years into the future, she wouldn't freak?"

"Boys! Why are you still talking over there? I'm sure that...um..."

"Oh, his name is Conrad...I mean, Conrart Weller." Yuri quickly spoke up, seeing as how the man wasn't inclined to speak anytime soon.

"Oooh, even his name sounds noble! Okay, now I'm sure Mr. Weller is tired from his ordeal, especially having to keep awake at this hour. Be good boys and send our guest to bed?" Jennifer said.

"Sure, Mama/Mom." replied Murata and Yuri simultaneously.

Shoma looked the man up and down critically, "And you might want to take him clothes shopping tomorrow. He can't be wearing Shori's clothes all the time. Your brother will have a fit if he suddenly decides to return." He sighed. "He might want to, since I'll be contacting Bob tomorrow to see whether he could dig up anything about this Conrart Weller. Shori will most likely get wind of it, in any case. You know how he is."

Yuri's shoulders slumped at the prospect. "Yeah, clothes shopping tomorrow got it. Oyasumi nasai..."

By that time, Conrart's mind decided to start working again and he bowed to the couple. "I thank you for your kindness and generous hospitality, sir, madam. To you I owe a great debt."

Yuri rolled his eyes once more, not bothering to hide it this time. He gently, but firmly pulled on the man's arms, pulling him away from his giggling mother and confused father. "Quite the charmer, aren't you?" he remarked once they were out of sight and earshot, Murata having long since gone back to their room. "You practically had my Mom eating from your hand." Since his eyes were elsewhere, he did not notice the small smile tugging at the soldier's lips, nor the softening of his eyes.

"That was not my intention, I assure you. She just...reminded me of my own mother." They stopped outside Conrart's room but he still continued. "Passionate, strength, independence...all qualities that are strange for a woman to hold but do – and yet she still leave room in her heart to care."

Yuri watched the nostalgic expression crossed the handsome, angular face. He have a sudden longing to reach out and touch the strong jaw in front of him, caressing and feeling the growing stubble...No! Yuri mentally jerked back as if burned. This was not the time to think about such indulgence with someone who thought he came from the fifteenth century, much less a man! He doesn't swing that way, right? Right. With that pep talk done, Yuri leaned his back against the wall and look down at his feet before he spoke, "You really care for your family, don't you?"

Conrart nodded. "But I have no way to return home to them," he said softly, looking at him with sad, hopeful eyes.

Yuri sighed. A puppy, indeed. A great, big puppy. He ran his fingers through his hair awkwardly. How was he supposed to respond to something like that? "Look, I know you have problems. I mean, you cracked your head and can't remember who you are, but I have my own problems too, okay? I have a team to manage, a stalker to deal with and a pop quiz –" Yuri rubbed a hand over his face. "Sorry, forget what I said. That's me being selfish and not thinking. I'm just tired. We'll talk about this tomorrow, today, whatever."

"But you were the one who brought me forth from my time –"

"_Are you still going on about that!_" hissed Yuri fiercely. "_As much as I like to wave my wand and send you home, I just can't because you know why? I'm not a warlock you insist on making me out to be! I'm just an ordinary baseball kid and for all I know, you are most probably a medieval history university professor who's married to a wife and have three kids waiting for you back home!_"

When he saw his eyes ignite with suppressed rage, he took a step away. He still remembered all too clearly the feeling of the sharp sword against his neck, and he does not want to take his chances that the man would improvise now that he was without a weapon.

"Do you still doubt my words? You have brought me forth, whether you choose to believe it or not, and as it stands, you, and only you, have the power to send me back to my time. Do you not understand? I have left in a time of dire need, too many I have left undone and unsaid, and –"

"And me and my family are doing the best we can to help you, geez!" Yuri slapped the hands away that had gripped his shoulders. The quicker he's away from this man, the better, "Dramatic, much? We'll discuss as much as you want later but for now, I'm not going to talk to you without getting pissed off until I get some much needed sleep in me, agreed?" He opened the door and shoved the man in. "Good, goodnight then. I'll see you in the late morning." he said curtly, shutting the door in the man's face.

"That man is going to be the death of me," Yuri grumbled, walking away to his room where his bed was calling for him.

* * *

Conrart stared at the door that had shut in his face, his thoughts once again in turmoil. For all the boy had brought him forward, he had not seemed to have a use for him except to escape from the room they were trapped in. But if he was a warlock, his mind whispered, surely he could have used his powers to set himself free? The door had fallen under his sword easily enough.

Does that mean that the boy was telling the truth? Then, what was his purpose of his being here? What higher being of power decided for him and the boy's path s to cross? Was the boy...A revelation came upon him. His country was at the brink of war when he heard the boy's cries. He was sent to the boy for a reason unknown to both. He was to learn something in this world that only the boy could guide him in. _The boy was the key to everything he needed to know_.

Conrart straightened. _The boy was the key_. The phrase kept repeating through his mind. His heart felt a little lighter after knowing what he needed to do. He must _bind_ the boy to him, he thought. He had to see that the boy was to never leave his sight until he got what he needed to know in this time.

No matter what the cost he needed to sacrifice, he _will_ learn everything about the exotic boy. It was what he wanted, and what he set to have, he will get.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: The original plot and excerpts of statement, sentences and/or paragraph you may find here from the book itself does not belong to me but the author Jude Deveraux. Same goes for Kyou Kara Maou. Understand? Good.**

**Chapter 5**

_Recap:_

_Conrart straightened. The boy was the key. The phrase kept repeating through his mind. His heart felt a little lighter after knowing what he needed to do. He must bind the boy to him, he thought. He had to see that the boy was to never leave his sight until he got what he needed to know in this time._

_No matter what the cost he needed to sacrifice, he will learn everything about the exotic boy. It was what he wanted, and what he set to have, he will get.

* * *

_

The late morning light streamed through every open window in the Shibuya household, the ticking of the clock's hand seeming to echo in the strangely silent building. In the sanctuary of his bedroom, Yuri stirred in discomfort, his face receiving the full onslaught of that same light shining through his glass doors, threatening to bring him out of his warm, blissful slumber. "Schupit lite…" he mumbled into his pillow, nuzzling it before turning away. Before he could relax back into dreamland, however, his electronic alarm clock took that time to blare out a jarring rock tune, nearly jolting him out of bed at the sudden volume. Groaning again, he blindingly searched for the device, his face still buried in his pillow. Stupid Shori, he thought sluggishly, messing with my clock. He knows I hate rock…and since when did I switch on my alarm?

Anything else was jarred to a halt when a baseball bat suddenly came out of nowhere and smashed down on his alarm clock, his hand nearly meeting its same fate if he hasn't jerk it away in time though his shock unbalanced him and made him fell off the bed. The rock tune dwindled down spastically until silence was all he heard. Cautiously peeking over his bed, his gaze moved from his utterly demolished clock – little sparks flying out a little here and there – trailed up the wooden bat he recognized as his own, to wild brown eyes that looked as if he was well and truly spooked, not to mention stupefied. His frame was tense and heaving slightly from the brief bout of adrenaline, his knuckles turning white from holding his 'weapon' so tightly; otherwise, he was silent and unmoving.

Yuri looked back and forth a few times, licking his dry lips before remarking eventually, "You know, you might make a great batter."

"What chaos was that?" Conrart said in a daze, either not hearing Yuri's statement or just ignoring it in favour of eyeing the…the 'thing' that had emitted those unearthly sounds that made his ears ring most unpleasantly. "This magic box in your possession…was it spouting incantations of spells and curses? I do not recognize the language it spoke in."

Yuri stood then, scratching the back of his head as another set of sparks leaped out of the device. "It's an alarm clock, and it wasn't 'spouting incantations', it was playing music to wake me up."

"Music?" was the dubious reply. "You called that cacophony of chaos 'music'? I'm sure I've heard of more pleasant sounds to wake up to."

The teen shrugged, starting for his cupboard to change his clothes. "That's rock for you. And it's not like we exactly wake up to cockerels at this time and age." At the man's confused expression, he added, "A type of music, not an actual lump of _stone_. It's an acquired taste; you don't have to like it. I don't like it either." Hold up, Yuri paused, halfway through unbuttoning his pyjamas, what is he thinking, talking to the man that way? It's as if he believed that he actually _did _come from the 15th century. Yeah right, he snorted, and I'm secretly the king of a hidden nation. He made to continue his ministrations only to stop again when he still felt the presence of the other in his room. He glanced over his shoulder and narrowed his eyes, "Um, do you mind…?" At the same time, he waved a vague motion down his body for emphasis.

Conrart blinked, tilting his head to the side. "But we are men."

"I-I know that!" Yuri spluttered, fighting a losing battle with his oncoming blush. Oh, he definitely knows that. Having stripped and showered naked in the presence of others like his teammates was nothing new, especially not in places like the communal showers. But then again, neither of his teammates had a body like this man have. When Dr. Rodriguez took off his armour last night, he can't help but notice how Conrart's torso was as muscled and broad-shouldered as his armour shaped him out to be, his big-armed linen shirt plastering to his body like a second skin from sweat – leaving _absolutely _nothing to the imagination. Thinking back on it now, adding in the prospect of the man's intense eyes lingering on him as he changed...let's just say the idea in itself made him a little hot under the collar, and he mentally smacked himself immediately after for even thinking about it. "Just…just get out of my room for a bit, would you? And give me back my bat!"

"You mean this wooden club? Is this your weapon?" Conrart asked, his eyes never leaving Yuri's face. After a moment, his mouth twitched before curling upwards into a small knowing smirk. "You are turning red in the face, young warlock. Mayhap you are..._nervous_...with my presence?"

"THAT'S IT! OUT!"

* * *

After eating their breakfast (with Conrart asking questions on nearly everything that's on the plate and their edibility) his Mom had left out for them before taking off with his father to god knows where, they walked together towards the shopping district – the man looking in shop windows, at the towering buildings, at the people and at the cars on the street. His expression heralded such an expression of astonishment and awe that Yuri was tempted to believe that he had truly never seen the modern world before. He asked no questions this time, but often halted for a moment to stare at a car or at a group of young girls with short skirts.

At one point, Yuri had to turn back to find Conrart frozen to the spot in horror as he gaped at the sight of a young girl dressed all in black: from tall, buckled leather boots, fishnet stockings, tiny black leather skirt, and tight off-shoulder blouse, to short hair that stuck up like porcupine quills sprayed with blue, purple and red and enough eyeliner for three. It took a little while longer than necessary to assure him that she was ordinary and does not belong to a dark magic occult group and _no_, he may not drag her to be beheaded just to be sure. Thank god he locked the sword away before he left.

"Right, here's where we can buy you something that isn't my brother's," he said at last, entering the store that he usually frequent to for their affordable and stylish casual wear for men.

"Yes, I would see a tailor," Conrart said, tearing his gaze away from another car to looked over the store front, frowning as if something was missing. When he hesitantly took a step inside, he stood still, eyes wide at the shirts and trousers hanging from the racks and folded on the tables. "These clothes have already been made."

Yuri was about to reply when a store clerk came up to greet them. The man was tall, wiry and seemed to be in his late thirties. "Hi, we need clothing for him from the skin out. The entire set, if you will. And…oh! He has to be measured for his size, too." He'd doubt the man remembers his sizes due to amnesia, and even if he did he'd probably pretend he doesn't, he thought.

"Of course," the clerk said, and then ushered Conrart into semi-private area at the back of the store. "If you step this way, sir, we can begin measuring."

Yuri sat on a chair off to one side, thumbing through a magazine he tried to pay attention to as the clerk began to undress Conrart, only to glance up now and again. The way he raised his arms for the clerk to unbutton his dress shirt and slide it off his arms made it looked as though he was used to other people undressing him. Now bare-chested for anyone in the area to feast their eyes on, the teen flushed and returned to the magazine on the joys of golfing. The clerk ran back and forth with armloads of shirts on each arm for him to try on, but the knight rejected every one of them. It was only after the twentieth discarded shirt and a pleading look from the clerk did Yuri decided to step up to the plate, eyes determinedly fixed on his face, "What's wrong?"

"None of these garments have beauty to them. No jewels, no needlework…perhaps if you would call a woman to ply her needle to one of these…?"

The brunette smiled, picked a olive green T-shirt from the discarded pile and helped him shrug it on. "Women don't sew today. At least not like the embroidery and needlework you have in mind," he added, recalling how last night the man had took out the beautiful piece of handkerchief embroidered in blue silk in a design of flowers and birds, with a lovely hand-done trim of silver cutwork at the edge. But then someone – somewhere, a woman perhaps – still sewed like that for the man to have it, right?

Yuri shook the thought away for another time and coaxed the reluctant man into the clothes he had picked out for him. Sometimes, he even had to help the man with his fastenings, much to his embarrassment, and after showing him (on another pair of trousers, of course) took a step back to watched him zipped and unzipped, snapped and unsnapped all manners of fastening in a curious, childlike manner. Then there were the questions on the 'wondrous substance', as he dubbed it, which was elastic, again. He thought it was worth it though, when Conrart came out of the dressing room in a soft blue cotton shirt, a white short-sleeved jacket over it and slim grey trousers. That changed in the next few minutes when the clerk totalled up the amount and announced the cost. The teen nearly had a shock of his life when Conrart gave a thunderous bellow of, "This man means to rob me! I will have your head, thief!" and reached for a sword that was not there. Yuri practically threw himself between Conrart and the counter – the poor little clerk huddled by the opposite wall in terror – paid for the clothes, and then dragged the man out of the store in a near run, all the time being peppered with questions on why he had given the clerk pieces of paper. By the time afternoon rolled around, Yuri felt utterly pooped.

"I hope you are hungry. I know I am." At the man's nod, Yuri took them to the nearest cafe joint. He led Conrart to a booth in a corner and told him to stay put before he went to make their orders. He came back with a tray laden with two slices of marble cheese cake, one cup of tea and a glass of ice-cream soda. Silently, he added milk and a little honey to the tea and handed it to the man along with the slice of cake. Conrart gave the tea a tentative look, then sipped cautiously. The naked joy on his face had the teen cover his mouth with a hand to stifle his laughter, managing to tell him to stop before he drained it all. The same thing happened with the cake, only he kept staring at it until Yuri finally relented, reached over, sliced off a small portion and feed it to him. Once chewed, he looked like a man who had fallen in love.

The tea and cake had been devoured under one fell swoop in a matter of minutes. After a couple remarks on his unexpected gluttony (he didn't seemed so enthusiastic during breakfast), Yuri went back to the counter to get another round. When he returned, he ate while the knight leaned back in his chair, sipped his tea, and studied him.

"What made you weep so at the building that held you prisoner?" he asked. The sudden question sent Yuri into a choking fit. Darn, he was hoping the man wouldn't bring up that one moment of vulnerability, much less seen it. He took large gulps of his soda and gave a small sigh of relief, then feigned nonchalance as he sliced his cake.

"I really don't think that's any of your concern…and I wasn't 'weeping'."

"If I am to return – and I must return – I need to know what brought me forth."

Yuri put his half-eaten cake down. "You're not going to start that again, are you? You know, I've heard that people, especially graduate students who major in history or archaeology, sometimes got carried away with their research and readings that after a while they couldn't tell the difference between in and out, now and then. You might be one of those cases."

Conrart looked at him in distaste. "For all your wonders of horseless carriages, your marvelous glass, and the richness of paper to purchase, you have little faith in the mystery and magic of the world," he said evenly. "But I do not doubt what has happened to me, and I know from whence I came. And you, warlock –,"

At that, Yuri stood up abruptly, uncaring of the attention he drew from his action. "I thought I've already established," he said, his mouth a thin line of frustration. "That I'm not a warlock." He made to leave the table, but the man caught him before he could reach the door, his hand cutting into his arm almost painfully.

"I will not let go until I have my answers. What could make a young lad like you cry as I have heard?" he demanded. Seeing that the knight was intent of doing just what he said he would, the teen jerked out his grasp and returned stiffly to his seat, not uttering a word as he took an angry swig of what remained of his soda. Might as well get it over with so he could go home and call it a day, he thought. With that in mind, he began pouring out his story to him, all the while averting his gaze from the other.

"So this person who claims himself to be your…'lover', locked you in and left you at the mercy of those ruffians?" Conrart asked. Yuri snorted.

"You could put it that way, yeah."

Conrart rubbed his rough chin in contemplation. "Then you but sat by the marble slab with my impression on it and asked for a…" He looked at him, and the younger bristled.

"I didn't _ask_ anything." Yuri said, snapping his eyes at him. "I just thought you looked perfectly like those Knights in Shining Armour that my Mom raves about occasionally. It's an American saying. All women dreamed about having a gorgeous...I mean, a...Well, a man to rescue her." A pause, then, "And I _wasn't _in anyneed of rescuing. After a day like I had, it is normal for even guys like to me to cry. Do I _look_ like a damsel in distress to you?"

"Of course not," the man replied, drinking his tea but his eyes belied his amusement and Yuri saw it. Slamming some money down onto the table, he left the shop, not bothering to wait for the other as he hurried after him, neither did he acknowledge him as he easily caught up and matched his pace of stride.

"For all your exotic looks, you are quite...emotional." Conrart remarked, and Yuri did not know whether to blush at the compliment or hit him for calling him 'emotional'. "Are the young boys of this century as sensitive as you are?"

Yuri quickened his pace, not that it did any good when the man has longer legs than him. "No, just the ones who has been bullied and stalked throughout their entire school year and, oh yeah, has a sword pointed down their throat," he retorted. "If you had really lost your memory, you should go and see a doctor, not picked on high school boys like me. And if this is all an act employed by _him_, then both of you should go see a doctor together – either way, you don't need _me_ to get you home, as I am but an ordinary baseball boy with no magical powers whatsoever."

"I know."

By this time, they had reached the front gates of the Shibuya residence, the evening sun throwing long shadows onto the sidewalk. Yuri turned to look at Conrart, disbelief obvious in his obsidian eyes. "I find that pretty hard to believe, not when you still called me a 'warlock' earlier." he pointed out.

"It was but a slip of a tongue; said in a moment naught of thought. For that, I apologize." Conrart bent his arm across his waist and bowed briefly. "However, you must understand this: what recourse do I have if I tell the truth? Have you no belief that your tears – which I assumed were borne and made from the wishes of your heart if what you told me was true – could have called me from another time, another place?"

"No, because I could just as easily think up a thousand explanations as to why you _think _you are from the fifteenth or sixteenth century, but not one of them have to do with _me_." Yuri unlocked the door and pushed it open. Judging from the lack of noise and light in the house, his parents still aren't home. He briefly wondered where they went before gesturing his hand inside. "Come on, take off your shoes and get in. I'm going for a walk so just lock the door behind you. I'll be back in time for dinner."

He walked down steps, past Conrart whose brows were furrowed as though considering some great problem, and onto the walkway of his house, slowly coming to a halt as he was suddenly overtaken by a feeling unlike that of a mother, or father in his case, abandoning his child. Sighing, he turned back, pushed the frozen man into the house and walked towards the kitchen. He took out one of the heat-proof containers labelled 'dinner' and chucked it into the microwave, taking it out minutes later when a chime signalled it was done and poured it onto a plate. With that done, he set it down in front of the knight who had taken a seat and patted his shoulder. "Here, I helped you heat up dinner, though it's a little early. It's my Mom's rice curry and I can absolutely guarantee that it's delicious. I'll bet with a full stomach and a good night's rest, you'll remember everything."

A large, calloused hand reached up and grabbed the hand that still rested his shoulder, eyes burning with an emotion that Yuri could not named but left him tingling all the same. "I have forgotten naught." Conrart said stiffly, then seemed to relent, his touch turning gentle in their grip. "And you cannot leave. We have much to discuss. Only you have the key to the answers that I seek."

The teen cleared his throat uncomfortably, pulling his hand away from the hold they were in. "Cut me some slack, will you? I'm not such a monumental importance you make me out to be. Look, it's just a short walk. I'll be back before you know it." And with one last look into those silver-brown eyes that looked so sorrowful, he turned and left.

Neither party were aware of the rolling dark clouds rumbling across the peaceful evening sky.

* * *

Yuri headed towards the park, his mind running in circles around his current predicament, whose main subject was now freeloading at his house. All the things he had observed and learned so far about the man leaned towards what the man had claimed but for all things logical in the world – it was an entirely ridiculous concept. Or was it?

His Mom always had a love for fantasy, and when he and Shori were still little she had regaled tales of princes and princesses, knights and dragons, beings with wings and glorious quests galore. Even when her sons had grown out of those fairy tales, she had continued to cherish them, believing that behind those tales there was a smidgen of truth. How else were stories created if not inspired and built upon bases of truth with a good dose of imagination as its foundation? Now, don't get him wrong, he wasn't against stories or anything like that. In fact, he likes them; sees them as one of children's source of joy, hopes, dreams and memories that shapes and affects the lives of themselves and people around them. But that's what they are: stories. You are hardly to find any magic or fire-breathing dragons in the Saitama prefecture, much less the whole of Japan.

So what makes you think that he's gonna believe for one second that the man had indeed travelled from the fifteenth century, from a nation he has never heard of, all because of his god damn tears and a single thought of a knight in shining armour? If that's the case, he would refrain from using, _thinking_, the term, period.

_Not even with a hot bod like _that_?_ was the traitorous thought that entered his mind, which disturbingly sounded like Murata. Flashes of cloth sliding down toned muscles and revealing a lean torso played in his mind. Yuri blushed furiously and shooed the images away. Okay, he's willing to admit that although the man acted like an uptight, stubborn jerk, he was also handsome, charming, attractive...But! That's it. He had merely admire the man's physical traits, any warm-blooded, hormonal human would. Anything else was out of the question: there was the matter of their ages, for one thing. He looked to be in his late twenties while he's only...wait, was he actually thinking about it! What the heck? He should be thinking about what high school boys like him think about; he should be thinking about how to get a girlfriend, about taking his team to nationals –

So deep in his turbulent thoughts, that he wasn't paying attention to the people and its surroundings until it was too late. A hand clamped down on his mouth, muffling his shouts and any other noises he might make, and everything after that was a painful blur. The sky opened and the first drop of rain fell.

* * *

A loud crack of thunder jolted Conrart out of his peaceful doze, awakening him to the darkened confines of the 'living room'. Standing up from the sofa with a languid stretch, he took a glimpse of the time shown on grandfather clock and paused. If he read the time correctly, and hopefully the methods of telling time has not changed much in the past five hundred years or so, it has been two hours since the young warlock had left for his 'walk'.

He said it was going to be 'short'...Conrart mused, looking out at the heavy downpour outside, fat raindrops splattering against the window with flashes of lightning lighting up the room from time to time. It was also raining when he had met the lad, though not as heavy: the boy – Yu-ree, was it? – sitting on the floor with his knees to his chest, face hidden from view, his small frame shaking slightly from held back sobs; a position that seemed to Conrart like a futile defence against an unseen attack. That image brought a sliver of discomfort that pricked his heart, making him uneasy. He looked out the window again. The storm was coming down hard but the boy should be able to find a shade on his own, magic or no magic, he told himself. Besides, despite the boy and his family's generosity of providing clothes, food and shelter, the lad's reluctance to associate himself with him was made obvious through his continuous rejection of his story and his quick departure from his presence.

Anger flared in his chest, fuelled by his irritation. Well then, so be it. He would do the young lad a favour and leave his household, ridding him of his obligation towards him. He would do well without him. There must be other ways to get home, other scholars of more worldly knowledge compared to a mere strapping, yet exotic, lad fresh out of his breeches. He would leave a note expressing his gratitude and –

His head turned sharply as he listened. Someone was calling him. The voice was not in words. He couldn't hear the actual sound of his name, but he could hear the urgency and desperate need of a voice that was reaching out to him.

No doubt it was the young warlock, he thought with a growl, his anger growing. So the boy thought he could call to him for help regardless of any repercussions on his side but scoff at him and question his sanity when _he _himself needed it in return, does he? The insolence of it all...

However, as Conrart felt the pull of the call from the depths of his soul, he knew there was no use fighting him. As he lived and breathed, he knew he had to go to him.

With great reluctance, he walked out of the room, down the hallway and out the door into the pouring rain. Shielding his face with his hands, he shivered, already wet through his clothes and put his head down as much as he could into his collar. These modern clothes have no substance! The modern people must be strong, he thought. How did they survive with no capes and jerkins to protect them from the driving rain?

The bright flash of lightning brought him out of his musings, the crack of thunder rattling his bones – and the call came to him more forcefully. Gritting his teeth, he made his way down streets that were unfamiliar to him, struggling against the force of the rain. Many times he heard strange noises and reached for his sword, then cursed when he found that the weapon was not there. He made several wrong turns, but then he'd stop and listen until the call came again. After a while of following what he was hearing inside of his mind, he left the dark streets and into the lush, wet greenery that he assumed was a park, lit dimly by glass-encased torches on poles. He would have examined this miracle further if it were not for the insistent call tugging against his heart. For several minutes he walked along the pathway, then stopped and listened as he wiped rain from his face, not bothering with the clumps of hair stuck to his face. At long last, he turned left and reached a small secluded shelter tucked in between the trees, vines coiling up the pillars and onto the roof it supported and he knew, finally, that he had found him.

Conrart walked into the shelter, a blessed reprieve from the rain, and saw his silhouette leaning against one the pillars furthest away from him, silent and unmoving. His hand twitched. "Well, lad," he started, his teeth clenched in suppressed anger, "you have called me. What is it that you want of me now?" Still, the other said nothing and Conrart felt his patience running thin. He reached out his hand, intending to grab his shoulder and shake some answer out of him just as a flash of lightning chased away the shadows shrouding the teen from view and he faltered.

Yuri was breathing heavily, looking barely recognizable under the blood that was trickling from a gash up at his temple down to his face, his right eye and cheek visibly swollen and bruised. His wrists had fingerprint-shaped bruises on them as well as his neck, and one of his hands was clutching his abdomen tightly, wincing as every minute shift of his muscle sent a sharp lance of pain up his spine.

And just like that, his anger melted away, only to replace by gut-wrenching guilt – an emotion he had only felt since _her _death. The boy had truly needed him, needed his strength and protection that was in his power to provide and all he could think about was leaving the boy as if he was a burden, because he wasn't given what he wanted. Now he laid before him, broken and bloody, a sign of his failure. He knelt onto the ground; his arms outstretched to take the boy into his arms but were unexpectedly slapped away. Shocked, he gazed into eyes that, although glazed over with pain, were still as beautifully dark as he had seen that first night, the fire inside burning as strongly as ever.

"Leave me alone." Yuri rasped, his voice strained but steady. The knight had to admire his fortitude – as well as his stubbornness and pride. His teeth were chattering so hard he could hear them over the rain; he was obviously freezing. Yuri swung his legs out and onto the ground, standing up painstakingly slow with one arm against the pillar to support himself. Once he was sure his legs wouldn't collapse on him, he began to shuffle forward, brushing against Conrart's shoulder as he bypassed his frozen figure. "I can walk by myself." He heard the boy whisper. He turned and watched the younger carefully made his way down the steps, only to dash forward when he stumbled at the last step and caught him before his head hit the pebbled ground.

Staring down at the now unconscious Yuri, Conrart sighed and lifted him into his arms. "I don't know who is the more helpless," he said, "you or I."

* * *

When Yuri next woke up, he was staring up at the ceiling in his room, his body stiff from the bandages wrapped around him and aching in places he thought was not possible to ache. Stupid bullies, he thought, disgruntled. This had better not hold him back from practice...

A movement from the corner of his eye caught his attention and he shifted his gaze towards the person who had nursed him. Conrart was sitting on his study chair with his legs and arms crossed – eyes unreadable in the dim darkness. For a moment, they stared at each other, neither wanting to be the first to break the silence between them. The man was the first to give in. "I'm sorry."

An apology was not what Yuri had expected. "Whatever for?" he asked softly.

"I...As a seasoned warrior such as myself, I could have prevented your being from harm. The injuries inflicted upon you are the marks of me failing to do so when you had needed my help the most. If only I had foreseen the changes in the sky, or accompanied you –,"

"...But I told you to stay, and you did. It's not your fault, anymore than it is mine. Instead, I should be thanking you."

"...thanking me?"

"Yeah," Yuri blushed, but not breaking his eyes away from the one across from him. "I know...I've been nothing but a nuisance to you since we met and yet you still bothered to come out into the rain to get me, carry me back and bandage my wounds. So...Thanks. It really means a lot to me."

Brown stared into black searchingly, testing the sincerity of his words. Not long after, Yuri was gifted to the sight of the man's first heart warming smile. "I accept your gratitude..._Yuri_" He shivered. Why does his name have to sound so...so pleasantly seductive from his lips?

The teen was saved from having to answer when his hand phone started ringing, startling them both from their stupor that had befallen them. Taking the chance to hide his red face, he took the phone, which was thankfully beside him, and put it to his ear, much to Conrart's curiosity.

"Hi, Shibuya here."

"Yuri."

"...Bob?"

* * *

**Finished! Oh, sorry, TBC! Pardon the late entry, but I just didn't know how to continue. Hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I did writing it. Read and review! **


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